Waterbury evening Democrat., 1887-12-30
ARTISTS AND MODELS.
A JOURNALISTS FIRST EXPERIENCE
 IN A DIFFICULT. POSE.

IN A DIFFICULT. POSE.
 Hard Work and Sometimes Pretty Good
 Pay-Trying to the Muscles-The Pro-
 fession in Paris-The Studios of New
 York City.
 !. was simply cheerful room, full of light and unornA.ncnted save by a few clever sketches and one painting of more than aver age merit. Near the window was table holding a board to which a piece of white paper was tackled. At the table was q young man whose hair, eyes and skin showed a Latin origin-a dreamy enough fellow, when idle, but lively energetic and practical from a. m. until 4 p. m in the afternoon as a druggists clerk. In one corner was a hide ous lay figure, in the centre of the room standing on trunk, with legs apart, chin in the air and one hand outstretched-rigid and statuesque-the writer.
 "Is posing hardF' I had asked unwari1y
 Suppose you try it," said the artist; and I did. I was supposed to be grasping the hand of a tall friend. The artist had put me on the trunk, in order, he said, to get tho hang of my trousers. "Now. keep still," said he. It seemed easy enough at first to stand up there and do nothing. --
 "How much do models get for this?' I asked
 ''It depends upon the model Some get s3 a day, some as much as that an hour"
 Pretty good business" I remarked. could sec his face in the mirror, and at this he smiled quietly. Every now and then he would shut his eyes and look at me ap- parently through the lashes. "What are you squinting at mo that way for?'
 tiPr.ppeSc If ali1Oinatjon 5 ha said. tto17t ting off everything but your figure" Then he took up his pencil and took sight at me- 'Getting your proportions" he explained 'Haven't you moved?" he added abruptly.
 My left foot was going to sleep and had shifted my weight to the other. sYou sec, 3 wont on tho artist after had shifted back, "you confuse shadows, outlines, everything by changing your position"
 ''Go ahead" said, gritting my teeth.
 ''Well, don't move and I'll give you rest presently" I counted tho figures on the wall paper as far as I could see them without turning my head. counted 1000 backward, an imaginary flock of sheep. I tried the mind cure, but I grew faint. Something moist began to trickle down my spinal column. My arm was Daralyzed.
 s'You needn't hold that arm out now,n re- marked tho artist at length. ''I forgot to
 
 IIo had settled to work now in earnest. He was getting enthusiastic. His face grew stern and business like, and he forgot that I was posing for pleasure.
 ''Chin up,n he called out sharply. "Whats t1io matter with those knees? Look pleasant S-.cii out that arm again. Don't move for your life" Livery time he squinted he looked lie 1iend.
 ''.otcl1y, now" I steadied myself with one moro c-Iort, but it was no use. I had the hip d-~.casc, spinal meningitis and diphtheria, G1 general paralysis had set in. I couldn't s1c.1ld it longer, and down collapsed on the i.-!nk. The artist nourished his pencil in -l..l@h "Jus5 in time," he cried. live - .oa.; Then he laughed.
 ''Is posing hard:" he asked, pleasantly. 'Ica've been up thirtythree minutes in a Lad position-pretty good for a first trial. Ho.nc models can pose for an hour in diff cit position without moving 8 muscle, but i. takes training, and it's bard work
 ''It is hard for people to understand, he continued, presently, ''thatposing is purely matter of business with artist and model that all other suggestions arc entirely absent. In Paris posing is more of a profession than it is hero; naturally, because the demand t,iere for models is greater and has existed
 
 schools the models present themselves for employment. A model must not only have a good figure, but she ought to be young and unmarried.
 ''Yes, there are lots of handsome studios here in New York;" he said, between the puffs of cigarette ''The hope of the young artists life is studio He thinks he can do nothing until he has curtains, rugs, daggers and Q thousand knickknaclzs which he fancies indispensable. Now, all that is an illusion. Tho men of the strongest imaginative temper aments prefer the plainest surroundings pos sible. If onc's mind is concentrated in his work he ought to be conscious of nothing else, as old St. Bernard could travel all day by lake and never see it. Goethe worked in a little narrow room with two tiny windows, one plain table, one plain, hard chair; long shelf for books, a closet attached for bedroom, which held one chair, little washing table and a sponge. You would fancy that Dore couldn't have too much gorgeousness about him, and yet his studio contained only a t. ble, covered with tubes of oil color, and two cheap chairs Turner could work in any room that had locked door and key on tho inside. Dickens wrote in a cheerful, comfortable room and he always had funny llUtlo DfCIlAo lHl1SSo ou oiio CADlO. oCoUc wrote anywhere, even in the family sitting room, with huhbub of conversation about him.
 Cit isn't theory alone,' he concluded jo- coseIy, ''that keeps me III these quarters. It is not because I think these surroundings are the best aid to my imagination. Still, it's a comfort to know that other great men have voluntarily selected just such an environ mant as hisn-"J. ". F." in New York Commercial Advertiser
 Tho Locomotive Cab.
 MT. W. W. Boyington, in an interesting article in The N. W. Architect on the "Architecture of the present time as com pared with that of fifty years ago." gives the following incidental renliniscence: s'We must not forget the very crude con et.,,o4;or, of railroads First tho ,unod